She looked down at the pair of SIG SAUER P250 .45-caliber pistols on the cluttered coffee table in front of her.

"Jade?" said Michelle.

"No," said Jade.

"What?"

"Tell them no."

"But don't you want those two out of commission?"

"I do."

"Then I'm signing you on--"

"I said no."

"But you just said--"

"My way, Michelle. I'll do it my way. They die when I say they die. And it's gonna be slow. And it's gonna be painful. And I want to hear her scream."

* * *

A few miles south of the San Luis Obispo city walls, the rented white ChrysFord sedan came around the bend of Highway 101. Past the low-lying hills ahead, Sakura could see the skyline of Northwood, the buildings of the airport and, in the near distance, Bay City and San Marino Bay.

She smiled.

Home again.

Forty minutes later, Sakura stepped out of the bathroom of her Ascot Arms suite wearing a thick cotton bathrobe, a towel wrapped around her head, her cell phone to her ear.

"Yeah," said Simon.

"I'm in town," she said.

"Already? Thought it wasn't until the weekend?"

"Decided to come in early. Meet me in downstairs in twenty minutes at the restaurant. Veronica's. I want an update."

"Sure. Be nice to eat good food for a change."

* * *

Simon slurped from his wine glass and smacked his lips. "Now that's some good stuff."

Sakura shook her head. "Manners, please." She patted the base of her neck.

Simon glanced down at the red cloth napkin hanging from his front collar. "Oh," he said, pulled it down, and placed it on his lap.

"Much better," said Sakura. "What's the story on our punkergang friend?"

"Haven't heard anything recently. But I'm checking into that tomorrow."

"Have you heard back from Miss Vittorio?"

"Nope."

"You called."

"Called. Vmailed. Emailed. Personal visit to the house." He shook his head and speared a piece of steak. "Zip."

"A shame."

"What now?"

Sakura took a sip of her wine, then said, "Spread the word. I'm bidding."

Simon stopped with the piece of steak halfway to his mouth. "But I thought--"

"I am. This will ensure nobody else gets in the way."

"And if Miss Vittorio disagrees?"

"She'll have to take it up with me."

* * *

23 August 2042 - One day later

Kincaid said, "A piece of advice, friend--"

The dreadlocked WyldBoy looked up from examining the weapon, bared his teeth, and growled at Kincaid. "I'm paying for goods, not advice. Friend."

Kincaid shrugged. "Fair enough.""One week?"

"One week. And half the money in one hour."

"Don't worry," said the WyldBoy. "You'll get the money." He looked down at the weapon again, sleek black death on three legs. He stroked the long barrel like a pet and grinned. "Then the bitches will die."

He flashed a grin at Kincaid, turned, and sauntered out of the warehouse, dreadlocks bouncing against his shoulders.

Kincaid watched the WyldBoy leave. When the door closed behind the ganger, he shook his head. "Boy's gonna die a horrible death."

"You think so?" a voice rumbled next to him.

"Yes, Dwayne. I do."

"Even with that thing?" said Dwayne.

"Even with that thing." Kincaid turned to Dwayne and smiled up at the big man. "He picked the wrong ladies to tangle with."

"No way," said Dwayne. "You owned them. I was there when you gave them the deadline."

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places featured in this work are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, institutions, or locales is purely coincidental.